The Light Inside Your Silence

The afternoon light hits the window and someone finally asks the question you have been dodging all day. "How are you doing?" And the silence rises up in your throat before you can speak.

You swallow the truth because it feels too heavy for a Tuesday. Too messy for the breakroom.

But the light does not need your polished answer. It is already inside the silence you are keeping.

Split a piece of wood, lift a stone—the light is there, even in the words you cannot say. You do not have to bring forth a perfect story to be held.

The very thing you are hiding—the ache, the exhaustion, the quiet fracture—is the very thing that, if brought forth, would save you. The light is not waiting for your performance.

It is waiting for your honesty. The silence is not a wall; it is the place where the light is already speaking your name.